


Remember Who We Are

by Havoka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, no ships, this fic operates under the headcanon that Moira was involved in Widowmaker's creation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 21:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15470682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Havoka/pseuds/Havoka
Summary: Short fic exploring some of Widowmaker's personal relationships.Part 1: Moira.Part 2: Amélie.





	1. Mother Monster

She spent most evenings simply staring into nothingness. Her body was tired, and her brain always felt foggy. She barely had any energy to begin with, and by the end of those long, long mission days she was one step from death. Well, one step closer than usual.

She was currently resting her exhausted body on one of the Talon base’s standard-issue mattresses. It was nothing like the extravagant canopy bed she had back home, but bases had to be set up and taken down quickly. No room for extravagance, or, as it would seem, comfort. She preferred to sit rather than lie down on it, since it had a tendency to suck its inhabitant’s spine down into its painful springs and refuse to let them go.

Footsteps outside the door barely registered in her ears. She only lent them her attention once they were inside her room. 

“You were off today, LaCroix.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at the use of the other woman’s name. She had missed a few easy shots earlier, it was true, but she didn’t realize Moira had noticed.

“I did what I could,” she replied.

Moira appeared in the corner of her vision. Still Widow did not turn to face her.

“I didn’t mean with your lackluster sniping performance.” She forced herself into Widow’s line of sight. Widowmaker noticed she was holding a tablet. “I mean your readings.”

Suddenly the bed seemed the most appealing option. Widow retreated into it in an effort to remove herself from the conversation. Unfortunately Moira was nothing if not persistent. 

“LaCroix.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Your cortisol levels were unusually high this morning. I think we should perform some more extensive testing, just as a precaution.”

Widow narrowed her eyes as she stared at the wall, past Moira. “Maybe I am dying.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I wouldn’t allow that to happen.”

“Right. You just love me too much.”

“Well you  _are_  my creation. I take a certain amount of pride in you.”

Widow lay her head on the rock-hard pillow of the already-suboptimal bed. She did not understand Moira at all, and their relationship was confusing at best. Widowmaker was born a mere nine years ago, emotionally infantile in the body of a grown woman. The first opening of her stolen eyes had revealed the wild-eyed, almost inhuman-looking woman before her now, staring in at her through the warped glass of Amélie’s sensory deprivation tank. Like a baby bird first poking its head out of the cracked and ruined shell it emerged from, her first sight was the face of the creature that made her.

It made sense that the closest thing a monstrosity like her had to a mother was a monster herself.

Although she was avoiding eye contact, she could feel Moira looming over her, eyes boring into her very core. Why hadn’t she left yet? There was nothing else to say.

“LaCroix,” she said, blatantly ignoring Widow’s request to stop calling her such. “How much do you remember?”

That prompted Widow to shift her focus. Casting a cold glare upon the other woman, she said, “What are you talking about?”

Moira’s eyes combed over her. Were it anyone else Widow would assume she was being taken in sexually. Coming from Moira, she knew it was a twisted scientific curiosity instead. She wasn’t sure which she despised more.

Apparently oblivious to taking hints of body language, Moira sat down on the bed by Widow’s legs. “Lately you seem...frustrated. Or perhaps ‘agitated’ is the better word. I’m just wondering if you might be experiencing any side effects of the emotional suppression.”

 _Does she even hear herself?_  “I can assure you, Dr. O’Deorain, that I am completely fine and well-adjusted.” It took all she had not to retch in the woman’s direction. Moira didn’t care about how she was doing out of any sort of concern. The creator was even more of a heartless monster than her creation.

“Cortisol is a hormone often produced in response to stress,” she continued. “Are you exceptionally stressed about anything?”

“Leave me alone, Moira.”

“I won’t. You have no idea what’s best for you. You’re like a petulant child.”

She only further proved Moira’s opinion when she got up and walked out of the room on her. 

“Where are you going?” Moira called after her.

Widow shut the door.


	2. It Beats For You

Old details of Amélie’s life interested her. It was a vicarious kind of interest, like a creature lurking in the dark outside the window of a loving family. 

She had a few photos of them in her possession - ‘them’ being Amélie and her soft-necked husband, without all those nice bruises Widowmaker had put on him the night he caught a bad case of death from her. 

The dropship in the base’s hangar was the perfect place to bring those mementos out. No one was around to “observe” her there. Widow launched her grappling hook with flawless grace, grabbing hold of the dropship’s left wing with it, and let it pull her up. She landed softly on top of the wing, where she sat down against its fin and cautiously removed the photos from inside her bra. 

Her heart beat twice in relatively quick succession, an unusual feeling for her but one that she had come to expect when stoking Amélie’s old feelings. “ _What was it about him?”_ she whispered in French. “ _He was weak. Spineless and stupid. He could not even tell the difference between you and I.”_  

The muscles in her chest contracted at the sight of Amélie in her beautiful wedding gown. It was strange to behold someone who appeared physically so much like you, nearly identical in fact, and yet was an entirely different person. They shared everything from DNA to fingerprints. In the eyes of the legal system they were the same person. 

That, of course, could not be further from the truth. 

Widow ran her nail down Gérard’s likeness. “I’ve done more for you than he ever could.” 

Her stomach twisted. She squeezed the old photo, crushing its edges in. 

 _I know you hate me. But you don’t understand. I did what I had to_   _to_ _make them stop hurting us. Hurting you._  

Gérard was weak. He couldn’t protect Amélie. Widowmaker could. She knew every strength and weakness of the poor, foolish, soft-hearted dove of a woman. She knew every detail about Amélie, every deep, dark secret that Gérard never heard, every little thing she liked and disliked. All the ways she liked to be touched and held. 

Widow touched two fingers to the soft flesh of her inner forearm. She ran those fingers slowly down the arm, and watched as the skin broke out in goosebumps. The contact elicited no response in Widow – it was Amélie’s reaction. 

The picture of Amélie and Gérard on their wedding day stared up at her from her upper thigh, where it was rested. Widow’s eyes settled upon it, and she imagined then what it might feel like to have someone commit themselves wholly to you like that. Someone outside of you, who could never hope to completely understand you. Gérard was holding Amélie’s hands in his own, separate from hers, and Amélie was smiling widely. In another picture, rested on her other thigh, they were sharing a gentle kiss. 

Despite knowing her so intimately, Widowmaker could never kiss Amélie. That was the price of sharing absolutely everything, right down to a body. She wasn’t sure what the appeal of kissing was anyway, but Amélie loved it. And Widow would do anything to keep Amélie happy. 

She raised her left hand and kissed the back of it. Somewhere deep inside their body Amélie stirred, like a weak, flickering candle. Immediately Widow felt their heart clench with grief and agony. It was like this every time she selfishly awakened the other woman in her body. 

 _I’m sorry for disturbing you. I just_ _appreciate your_ _company._  

Her heart beat twice more. For a moment her icy chest almost felt like it might thaw. For those few short moments she almost felt like a human being. Almost. 

Widow wrapped her arms uncertainly around herself and then hugged their body tight. The upset in her stomach gradually calmed as Amélie’s suffering eased, the love stifled deep inside her warming the both of them. Widow tucked the old photos back into her shirt and then continued holding Amélie until she was at peace again. 


End file.
